


FIC: The Holy Days of Agent Sands

by Hippediva



Category: Once Upon a Time in Mexico (2003)
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-09-17
Updated: 2004-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-08 09:47:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hippediva/pseuds/Hippediva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://khohen1.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://khohen1.livejournal.com/"><b>khohen1</b></a> this is all your fault!  *G*  I couldn't resist another stab at blasphemy, based on my backstory for Sands.  Dedicated to you and to <a href="http://usagi92.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://usagi92.livejournal.com/"><b>usagi92</b></a>.  The Holy Days of Obligation as seen through eyes that still see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	FIC: The Holy Days of Agent Sands

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**Current mood:** |   
busy  
---|---  
**Current music:** | Dark Side of the Moon  
  
_**FIC: The Holy Days of Agent Sands**_  
DISCLAIMER: Rodriguez owns him, Depp created him. I'm a Borrower  
PAIRING: Sands sweet self  
FB: Alway treasured

SUMMARY: [](http://khohen1.livejournal.com/profile)[**khohen1**](http://khohen1.livejournal.com/) this is all your fault! *G* I couldn't resist another stab at blasphemy, based on my backstory for Sands. Dedicated to you and to [](http://usagi92.livejournal.com/profile)[**usagi92**](http://usagi92.livejournal.com/). The Holy Days of Obligation as seen through eyes that still see.

The Holy Days of Agent Sands

  
or

  
Days, weeks, years, who the fuck cares?

  
**December 8: Immaculate Conception**

It was Jim Morrison's 23rd birthday. Ok, no one outside of the Venice Beach area would know that, but she did. Maggie roused Tweak and Moonstar, still flying on the blotter. The sunlight through the ragged curtain was heaven's gold and she arched towards it.

"Let's go to the desert."

The van chugged east along I-10, long past the joshua trees stabbing the sky like seaplants in an ocean of scrub.

It was dark when the van died, somewhere in New Mexico. They were all buzzing to the good Columbian and a few tabs of windowpane when the truckful of Indian farmworkers pulled over after a good long drunk at Rosie's. She might not be partying with Jim----fuck you, Pamela!----but the body was warm and smooth and while her brain whirled, she felt a jolt and she knew.

The moon was in Libra and Mars was in Sagittarius and she looked up at the the night sky and howled with the coyotes.

  
**August 15: Assumption of the Blessed Virgin**

She rolled in a haze of hospital-approved drugs and a few that Moonstar had smuggled in, her smile so broad it stretched her mouth painfully.

The nurse came in with a bundle in a blue blanket.

"Aqui! Su hijo!"

huh?

She knew she felt lighter than air, unburdened of the weight that had been dragging at her for months.

Moonstar beamed at her. "He's beautiful! And I did his chart! His moon's in Scorpio."

huh?

She looked down into blue-black eyes and her smile became a sunrise as she fumbled with his tiny wristband.

"Oh look! How cute! They named him 'Baby'. Did you bring the nembutol?"

  
**December 25: Christmas Day**

People here weren't speaking Spanish and there were no tamales around so he figured that they'd drifted back over the border.

The van was dead again. Tweak had the hood open and was cussing at the engine.

He looked out of the window and saw a crowd of people in fancy clothes pouring out of a building.

"Mom? What's that?" He pointed with one small, grubby finger.

She stirred languidly and shifted him in her lap so he had to strain his head over her shoulder to watch.

"Nothing, sweetie. It's Christmas. When Jesus was born."

oh. He wanted to ask who the hell Jesus was, but Tweak was getting louder and he was carried out of the heat of the van.

"Mom?"

"What Baby?"

"Why aren't there tamales?"

"We'll get some later."

He curled into her arms, burying his head in her neck. She smelled like patchouli and rainwater and he liked that. A man walked across the street and glared down at them. The shade under the tree was nice but the man's eyes were cold.

"Why don't you damned hippies go back where you belong!"

He looked up into a red face, blue eyes bulging and bloodshot.

"Why don't you fuck off?"

"Baby!"

He smiled, huge brown eyes drowning the intruder in ice water. "Oh. Merry Christmas."

  
**January 1: The Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God**

"Mom?"

Inarticulate mumbling.

"Mom?"

Her hair was sticking up all over, her eyes smeared with makeup.

"Coffee."

"Thanks Baby."

He sat on the edge of the bed and took communion from the cracked mug.

  
**Ascension of Our Lord, forty days after Easter**

He rode the Tilt-a-Whirl five whole times until his stomach was churning with cotton candy and his hair was plastered to his sticky face.

"And who is this little man?"

A pair of strong arms lifted him up, higher than Tweak, higher than anyone. His head turned, looking down at her, eyes wide and startled.

"That's my Baby."

She was cradling a pink stuffed poodle, and she smiled, but not at him.

  
**All Sundays of the Year.**

His neck itched. They had cut his hair so short and the collar of the shirt rubbed unmercifully against the stubble where it had hung down to his shoulders. The tie was strangling him.

"Now be a good boy. You're getting a real name, child. This is a good thing."

He looked up at Douglas doubtfully. "What was wrong with before?"

"Oh, honey, you can't go through life as Baby can you? You'll be a man one day and you need a real name."

"What name?"

Sheldon? Is he fucking crazy?

  
**November 1, All Saints' Day**

"....hmmmm.. Day of the Dead? That's tomorrow...."

His mind drifted despite the thrill of urgency running through him from the base of his spine to his brain.

"Breathe, Baby. Breathe. That's the base chakra." She giggled. "One day you'll be happy about those."

"Those what? Oh." He shrugged, but blushed all the same.

She pinched his cheek. "My pretty boy. You're gonna just kill the girls."

No shit.

The desert wind picked up and his head followed it, hair in his mouth, his eyes netted by the sun, blinding him.


End file.
